


Once Upon a Dream

by 35_leukothea



Series: They Never Really Leave Us [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-19 13:01:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1470772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/35_leukothea/pseuds/35_leukothea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been a long time—a very long time indeed—since Dean has thought of Hell and what he learned there, so when he has a nightmare concerning Sam and the demon Alastair, it renders him so upset he is afraid to even blink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Upon a Dream

**Author's Note:**

> I WILL NEVER BE DONE WRITING MY ROMANTIC CLICHÉS YOU LOT HAVE GOTTA DEAL WITH ME FOR A BIT LONGER
> 
> The point of view switches between characters three times during this, each time after a page break. It should be fairly clear whose perspective the narration is from, though—sorry if it's not, I have a strong thing against using third person omniscient, so I try to make it pretty obvious. This takes place sometime in the middle of season six, I think.

It was already late when Castiel realized he didn't actually have to sleep.

He usually just pretended, because it was uncomfortable for Sam and Dean when he stayed overnight and just stood there while they tried to get their rest—he couldn't understand why—but here, at Bobby's, they'd put him and Sam in rooms by themselves upstairs. Dean was sleeping on the ground floor, on the couch, because he claimed he liked it better (with little to no explanation). Nobody had protested.

Now, as he remembered he was alone and nobody cared whether or not he pretended, he decided that the three humans would undeniably be asleep now, since it was past two a.m. and Bobby had insisted they all go to bed early to get enough rest for the hunt tomorrow—they were sacking a vampire nest. At first he got up and just paced about his room, thinking, but then he decided he would go for a walk. Wasn't that something that humans did? They walked places. For fun. The floorboards were a little bit creaky from lack of maintenance, but he succeeded in going downstairs without making enough noise to wake anybody up. He'd taken off his shoes as well, which helped with the quietness, because apparently it was not customary to wear shoes in a bed, but he still had normal clothes on—they were Dean's, actually, a fact that had made Sam laugh himself silly when he noticed. He felt a little odd in them, and the shirt was too big, so he had tucked it in, but they smelled nice. He still liked Jimmy's trenchcoat better, though.

He put on a pair of random shoes by the back door, went outside and circled the house once or twice, then came back inside when he decided that walking wasn't very interesting when the only things that were awake were some night owls and raccoons. The raccoons didn't want to talk to him and the owls didn't want to talk at all. When he came back inside, he planned on doing a few rounds about the ground floor, but he was cut short as he entered the room with the fireplace, where Dean was sleeping. Somebody shouted.

* * *

Screams of pain, screeches of manic laughter. The same scene, over and over. He wanted to stop, but he couldn't. His body moved on its own, replicating exactly what he had done to the demon the first time, but this time, it was someone else that was the vessel. Someone he knew.

It was almost as if he was watching a replay of it from the side, watching himself torture the beast controlling his brother's body.  _Get out of him!_ he shouted, over and over.  _Find someone else, just leave him alone!_

Alastair simply laughed at him, but it was Sam's deranged laughter that he heard, the same laughter he had heard from Lucifer in the post-apocalyptic future Zachariah had sent him to, the same laughter he had heard from his empty shell of a brother before his soul made its way back home. Alastair taunted him, mocked him, but he could not understand the words. There was blood everywhere, but it wasn't Sam's real blood anymore—it was completely demon, it was what Ruby had hoped to turn him into. His eyes were black, and there was salt stuck to his face and torn clothes from when Dean had forced it down his throat. He could remember with terrifying lucidity the way Alastair's vessel responded to being injected with holy water, to being cut with the demon-killing knife.

Once or twice, Sam won over consciousness for a few seconds.  _Please don't_ , he pleaded.  _Help me, Dean._

He didn't, though, and then Sam got angry. He was scarier than almost anyone else Dean knew when he was angry. He hadn't remembered the dripping water pipe until it was too late, and Alastair was free. He wasn't even sure it was still the demon.

 _I warned you, Dean_ , he said. The image of his vessel began to flash from Alastair, with torn clothes and a mouthful of blood, to Lucifer, with hair combed back and wearing a suit the color of innocence and purity, the shadow of his wings towering over him in the enclosed, dimly lit room.  _I warned you about this, but you didn't listen. You can't escape what you are meant to be._

 _No!_  he shouted. _This is wrong! You can't—!_ But his cries were cut short as he suddenly began to choke and fell to the ground. There was no air left in his chest, and it burned his throat to breathe. He tasted iron and salt, and as he coughed the contents of his lungs up into his hands, he realized that he was choking on the same combination of salt and holy water he had tortured Alastair with. He felt gashes being carved into his skin and sizzling in agony in the exact same places he had cut the demon's vessel.  _  
_

Sam took a few steps forward to crouch next to him, taking Dean's chin in his hand and tilting his head up so he could see his demented smile.

_Time's up, Brother._

~

"Dean!"

He gasped and his eyes flew open, nearly knocking heads with whomever had awoken him as he jolted upwards. He recognized the person's voice almost instantly as it resounded, low and sharp, through his dream, snapping him awake and tearing apart the horrible images still burned into his open eyes. "Dean, are you okay?"

He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision. Who was in front of him? There were hands on his shoulders. He shoved them off, but they grabbed his wrists instead. He closed his eyes for half a second and the demon was back, laughing and laughing.  _No_ , he said, or thought he said, shaking his head. His veins were full of electricity and adrenaline, and his mouth still felt full of blood. He tried again, and this time, his voice worked. "No—!" _  
_

"Dean!" pleaded the voice. It sounded nearly desperate, and for some reason, it made his heart wrench to hear that voice in that sort of pain. He still could not decide whose it was. "Please wake up! _Dean_!"

And then suddenly it was broken. He blinked once more, and looked around. The demon had gone, and now there was just an angel. Castiel's face was contorted in an expression that Dean had never seen on him before, a mix of panic and terror, and his lips were slightly parted. He still had a firm hold on his wrists.

"Dean...?"

There was a short pause in which Dean simply stared right through him, but finally, he found words. "Sam," he muttered.

Cas frowned. "No, I'm—"

"Sam, where's Sam?" he interrupted, beginning to panic as the details of his nightmare came flooding back to him. He tried to get up, but Cas pushed him back down. "Where's Sam, is he okay, is he here? He's—"

"He's  _safe_ , Dean, he's sleeping upstairs," Cas chided gently. "Nothing has happened to Sam."

"But—"

"Dean, if there were any demons here, I would know," Cas reminded him. "You need to calm down."

Accepting this as true, Dean took his advice, and for a few moments, the only noise was his own hard breathing, which eventually slowed as he made sense of his dream, what had happened and what he had done, what he had done to Sam, his own brother. He could feel a lump forming at the back of his throat, so he swallowed and pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "M-my God," he whispered tremulously. He was suddenly very cold. "I..."

Cas shook his head once and hushed the hunter, wrapping one arm around his shoulders and placing the other at the nape of his neck. "It's okay," he said, cradling Dean's head against his shoulder, and nudged his nose into his light hair. "There are no demons. Sam is fine."

At first Dean felt he should push him away and handle this himself—it was just a fucking  _dream_ , for God's sake—but after a split-second's hesitation, he realized he didn't actually want to. Cas' warmth helped dull his shaking, and he was tangible and corporeal, unlike the night terrors. He smelled nice. Couldn't really decide what the smell was, but it was nice. He put his arms around his angel's waist and clutched the back of his shirt in his fists, burying his face in his chest to hide himself from the world. "I was so scared," he mumbled, feeling his gut wrench in awkward pain to admit such a secret, secret thing aloud. 

Cas kissed the top of his head and drew him closer. "What happened in it?" he asked.

He shook his head. "I don't even think I know. It was..." He hesitated. "Do you remember when the angels caught Alastair? And asked me to..."

"To torture him with the skills he himself taught you in Hell in hopes of learning who was killing their brethren?" Cas finished, rather bluntly. "I could never forget that. I wish it hadn't happened."

In another situation, Dean might've found his angel's obliviousness funny, but now it just made him cringe. A tiny part of him at the back of his mind noted Cas' interesting choice of words— _their_ brethren, not  _our_ brethren—and thought it was strange. "Yeah, me too," he agreed. "I dreamt of that."

"Where did Sam come in?" asked Cas.

At this, Dean did something that frightened both his angel and himself—he laughed. It was harsh and sharp, even when it was muffled by Cas' clothes, and it was the farthest thing from laughter that laughter could be. He didn't immediately respond, and Cas prompted him again.

"Dean?" he said, sounding worried. 

Dean took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes with one hand, the other still clutching the back of his shirt. "He was the demon, Cas," he said softly. "The demon was him. And I did it anyway. There was so much blood. He was laughing and screaming. I kept trying to stop, but I couldn't." He could feel the angel holding his breath in. "I have dreams about Sam all the time. Normally it's the night that Mom died, or when Azazel forced the other psychic to kill him. But this...Sam wasn't even  _there_ , Cas. Why would I have that dream?"

Cas paused for a moment. He had undoubtedly caught onto what he was trying to say, and his next words confirmed that. "Dean...this is a conversation to have with Sam, not me. And Alastair's gone now. So is Azazel, so is Ruby. He's okay."

"I don't know, Cas," he muttered. "I'm scared. I'm scared of him. He does some crazy things, without even thinking about it. He's so much like Dad."

"He's  _not_ your father, Dean."

"Yeah, well, sometimes he's as good as."

There was a long silence. Cas was petting Dean's hair, but he barely felt it. He was so tired he could barely keep his eyes open, but he had to, or else the demon might come back. He noticed for the first time that it was raining. Finally, after what seemed like years, he spoke.

"I feel like it's all my fault."

Castiel, surprised, drew back slightly to look at him. "How do you figure?" he asked, sounding more concerned for Dean than interested in what his reasoning for that statement was.

He took a deep breath. "Well, for starters, I practically raised the kid. Not exactly a good influence."

"Not exactly something you could help," Cas added pointedly. "And you did a fine job of it, too. That's why he loves you so much."

At these words, he felt his gut clench uncomfortably, but he wasn't sure why. "It shouldn't have had to been done at all," he mumbled. "I tried to keep it from him for so long, Cas. What me and Dad did."

Cas frowned slightly. "He doesn't resent you for any of that, Dean," he said. "I know that there have been times when he has felt you're overprotective—"

"Understatement," Dean interrupted.

"—but that just goes to show how much you care about him," he finished, ignoring the hunter's comment. 

"Then why did he run away?" he asked bitterly. "And why did he like it so much better than being with us?"

"He was just more independent, that's all," said Cas. "He wanted to know what the normal world was like. I don't think he wanted to leave his family—or at least you—so much as he wanted to go out and see how other people lived."

Dean sighed and shook his head against his angel's chest. "I shouldn't have come back for him," he said softly. "I should have let him stay at school. Maybe Jess would still be here then. Maybe he'd have a real life. Maybe he'd have succeeded where Mom and Dad failed. I just still can't get over that—he was going to get _married_ , Cas! He was going to have a family, and a job, and a house! And then I jumped in and ruined it all."

"Nothing you could've done would have stopped Azazel from trying to get to Sam, since he'd had him claimed since he was a baby," Cas reminded him gently. "Even if you hadn't gotten him then, something would have happened, and the same events would take place."

When he responded, he sounded truly close to tears for the first time. "It's funny you should say that," he said slowly, "because that's exactly what  _he_ told me."

There was a split-second hesitation. "'He'?" Cas repeated, confused. "Sam?"

Dean laughed. It sounded closer to a sob than anything, and he could tell his angel was alarmed by it. "Zachariah once shot me five years into the future, to see what it'd be like if I let the apocalypse happen," he explained. "It was just a threat, really, but it was...it was awful. I had pretty much turned into a heartless killing machine, you lost all your angel powers, and most of the world's population was infected with the Croatoan virus. Sam had been taken by Lucifer."

He paused to breathe a bit. He felt vaguely sick recalling these events. He could still hear the fallen angel speaking to him in his brother's voice. "He knew what Zachariah had done, somehow, he knew when I was from and why I was there. He knew I wouldn't say yes to Michael. When the future version of me tried to kill him, he turned around and snapped his neck like it was nothing, just to show me how much power he had over Sam and I. He told me that whatever I did, however much I tried to fight it, we would always end up in the same damn situation." He laughed that same pained, shaky laugh again and didn't bother wiping his eyes. "I've been fighting this 'destiny' bullshit all my life, but the world just doesn't seem to be having any of it, does it?"

"Dean, what are you saying?" Castiel asked incredulously. He grabbed the hunter to press his face into his shoulder and hold him tightly as he could, because he had finally begun to cry. "I don't know if you remember or not, but you  _stopped_ the apocalypse. You and Sam saved  _everyone_. You kept trying long after the rest of us lost hope and accepted it as what was fated to happen, so don't you talk to me about 'destiny,' Dean Winchester, because you're a hero, and you can save the world without it." He kissed his forehead. "You're always a hero, and I love you."

 _I love you more_ , Dean wanted to say to him, but he could not speak.

* * *

 There was a long silence in which the only sounds to be heard were the gentle rain pattering on the rooftop and Dean's muffled sobbing. Cas put his blanket, which he'd kicked off during his nightmare, around his shoulders and slowly rocked him from side to side until his crying ceased. When he was certain he was going to be okay, he stood up to get him a cup of water. At first Dean didn't even want to touch it, but after Cas coaxed him into taking a few sips, he ended up drinking the whole glass and half another one. He looked sickly, and it pained the angel like nothing else to see him that way, so broken and dejected. He thought he might briefly mention this to Sam in the morning, but decided that it'd be better for Dean to make that choice. He didn't understand humans well enough to realize exactly why that might make Dean mad, but he knew it would.

It didn't take very long for Castiel to also realize just how tired Dean was. It was nearly three a.m. "Do you want to go back to bed?" he asked.

Dean shook his head, even though it was clear he needed rest. He was scared of the night terrors.

He sighed, not in exasperation, but something kinder than that. "Come on," he said, putting his arm around Dean's shoulders and gently hoisting him to his feet. "You shouldn't sleep on the couch again."

"I don't want to sleep," he protested, but didn't pull away. He was still clutching the blanket.

"You have to," Cas insisted. "It'll be okay." 

He led him upstairs into the bedroom he was supposed to be sleeping in, but he sat the two of them down on the adjacent bathroom's floor first and washed the dried tears from his cheeks with a damp towel. The towel was old and not very soft anymore, so he tried to be as gentle as he possibly could. After a few moments, however, Dean did something that caught Cas off-guard so much he would've cried out in surprise if he could—he grabbed his wrist, making him drop the cloth, put an arm around his waist, yanked him closer, and kissed him.

Cas froze at first and tried to push Dean away—he knew that the only reason he was doing this was because he didn't want to sleep, and he needed sleep—but when Dean held onto him fast, he sighed into his mouth the same way as before and kissed him back, tangling his fingers in his short brown hair and tasting the remnants of salty tears on his lips. He could feel Dean's hands untucking his shirt and reaching underneath, pressing into the small of his back to eliminate as much empty space in between them as was physically possible. One of his hands had reached as far up as to grab his shoulder, but the other began to trail down, down, over his hip and onto his thigh, hoisting Cas' leg around his waist, and Cas moved his other leg to mirror it. While at first Dean seemed like he merely needed a distraction from the terrifying dream threatening to return, he quickly grew nearly feral in his movements, biting his angel's bottom lip to make Cas groan and leaving marks on his shoulder blades as his hands touched the muscles there. He yanked the neck of his too-large shirt down, so harshly that Cas felt threads snapping in the stitching. It came all the way off his shoulder, and Dean bent his head to press hot kisses into the hollow of his throat, making him shudder. He suddenly noticed how stuffy it was in the small bathroom, even though they were sitting on cold tile flooring. He could hear the tap still running lightly.

When Dean was done there, he trailed his lips across his collarbone and the side of his neck until he found a spot he liked. He took the delicate skin there in his teeth and sucked it as far into his mouth as he could with little consideration for how hard he bit down, kneading it with his tongue. Cas heard a very distinct, embarrassing noise that he did not intend to make escape his own mouth, something in between a moan and a gasp, and felt his face flush with heat as he tightened his legs around Dean's waist, but the only response he got was an almost savage grin as Dean grabbed his face to press their lips and tongues together again.

The next couple minutes were just a blur of more heated making out, bruising and hair-pulling and kissing till their mouths were sore. After what seemed like ages, Castiel finally forced himself to pull away as they paused for a moment to breathe, and though Dean shot him a look that was somewhere between crestfallen and morose— _don't you dare do the "puppy eyes" on me, Dean Winchester_ —he was not sorry for stopping them, because he knew where they were going at that rate was not something they could do in a house with two other people. He gently but firmly removed himself from the hunter's grasp, readjusted his clothes and wiped his mouth, then stood up to turn the faucet off and put away the washcloth. Dean stared at him openly, and Cas could tell he was trying not to scowl.

"Up you get," he said after he was finished, holding out his hand to pull Dean to his feet. "You need to sleep."

Dean stood up on his own, which in another situation Cas could've been slightly hurt by, then picked up the blanket from underneath him and threw it over his angel's head. " _You_ need to sleep," he retorted crankily, sounding like a sulky little kid.

Cas forced himself not to smile as he pulled the blanket off and took Dean's hand to lead him back into the bedroom. "I don't sleep," he reminded him, but he didn't seem to hear. They both changed clothes, and when they got into bed, under any other circumstances Dean would've been gone as soon as his head hit the pillow, but he was still determined to keep himself awake. It made Cas a little bit sad that he was truly so scared of those dreams. What Dean said next made him a little bit frightened as well.

"Is it nice not to sleep?" he asked.

Cas hesitated. "I don't know," he admitted. "I've never had it any other way. But since I think the question you are really asking is 'is it nice not to dream,' then my answer is no."

He glanced up at him—his head was resting in the crook of his shoulder. "It's not?"

"No, Dean, it's not." Cas sighed and leaned his head sideways so his cheek rested on Dean's hair. "For angels, there has only ever been one single reality, because there is only one thing we have to know: obey. Obey, don't question, don't think, don't feel. That is where I went wrong. It's rather boring in the angels' world without dreams. Boring and lonely."

There was a short pause. "Your voice feels really nice," he said randomly, like he hadn't even been paying attention to what his angel had said. "Really deep."

For a split-second Cas had no idea what he meant, but then he remembered where Dean had put his head, and that he could feel his voice reverberating in his chest. "Oh," he said. "Um...thanks."

Dean laughed a little bit, and for the first time that night, it was genuine. He rolled over so they could see each other better, and began tracing Cas' swollen lips lightly with his finger. "Why did you stop?" he asked—his unpredictable changing of the conversation just went to show how tired he was. "Earlier, I mean. When we were...were you scared?"

He shrugged. "Not scared so much as worried someone would wake up. And you  _do_ need to sleep, Dean," he added. "I'm being serious. We have a hunt tomorrow."

He sighed and laid down again. "I know, I know, I'm just...scared."

Cas bit his lip. "Close your eyes."

He glanced at him like he was crazy, even though there was absolutely nothing crazy about that statement. "What?" he said.

"Close your eyes," Cas repeated. "Just for a couple seconds. It won't kill you."

He swallowed. "Fine. Just a couple seconds though."

Cas nodded, and when Dean reached for his hand under the covers he held it as if he hoped to bind him to the real world, away from night terrors and dreams that made no sense. And when he said a couple seconds, he really had meant a couple seconds. Cas had barely counted to three when Dean opened his eyes again.

"See?" he said. "Not so hard. Try it again, longer this time."

And he did. He shut his eyes for five seconds, then seven, then ten, and finally, after what seemed like ages, he didn't open them again. It was completely quiet. 

"How did you know what I was dreaming?"

Cas started so violently he nearly knocked Dean over. "You're still awake?" he said incredulously. "What are you talking about?"

"When you woke me up," Dean explained, "you said something about demons. How did you know it was demons?"

He shrugged the shoulder Dean was not resting on. "You were shouting. You said 'get out of him.' Why? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he mumbled, "just wondering." He shifted to get more comfortable, and let go of Cas' hand to lay that arm over his waist. "'Night, Cas."

"Good night, Dean. Sweet dreams." He paused and frowned. "That's right, isn't it? Isn't that what humans say?" 

He got nothing in response.


End file.
